With Teeth
by Eliza Rebel
Summary: The vampire Lestat has found a new victim to play with. A human that has very little need for feelings, and lacks in the ability to love, trust or even have other basic emotions.
1. This Is The Way It Was

Everyone is always whining and complaining over life, how it's either so boring or so tragic, and in all honesty, some humans have the right to moan. For others, they know nothing.

My name is Eliza Rebel (yes, my last name really is Rebel). I'm 24 years old and naturally blonde. I stand five, five and I don't believe in God. I'm a hypocrite, i lie straight through my teeth and at one point in my life, i was fucked over drugs. Not once did I ever complain, whine or ask for help. I willed myself to stay strong and forced the compulsions of the influence of the drugs away. No, it wasn't easy, if i said it was, who would be lying? Then again, I've already told you I'm a liar, and I am dead.

I write this out now to anyone who wants to read a tale of a girl who hasn't had a happy ending, but her own tragedy in which she has fallen in love with.

I was nineteen at the time, I had just recently stopped using drugs and needed to find a new focus in life, for drugs were an escape, a nice way of forgetting everything around me and something to concentrate on. But now that there was an absence of them, I decided to buy myself a drum set.

As random as that might seem, in all honesty, drums had a meaning for me. My father, whom I never knew, played them. They were my only connections to him, besides the chromosomes he had donated. No, but in all honesty, I love the rhythm they produced and everything about them concerning the noise that formed into a beat, eventually a song.

Most of my old friends looked down on me, they called me lame and pathetic for quitting, that my life was just going to become mundane and useless, and in some ways, they were right. Emotions I had been blocking out for almost all of my teenage life came flooding in and I just didn't know how to deal with them, but I was learning. I always had a taste for learning. Not school, never school, but the actual principle of learning. I digress...

I was ostracized, partially brought on by my own self, but that didn't matter anymore. I walked into the music store and went straight to the back. The owner was a former junkie and he knew me as i knew him. We were mutual acquaintances and that probably helped in the price of the drum set I had bought. We spoke the unimportants, and then I left.

How is this relevant? It's my memory, so of course it's important.

I got home to my broken-down flat on the twelfth floor, with much frustration and aggravation, heaving my drum set behind me. I set it up in the corner of my room, which took an hour, and then started to play for the first time. Not the first time in my life, but in a long time. I was rusty, and needed much work, but for the most part, I was good. Very good, even. I easily work myself all the way to excellent if I persisted long enough. And I did.

I found myself a year later in a club in front of a group of young twenties and playing my soul out. I was auditioning for a band. What else could my talents lead me to? I couldn't afford my flat if I didn't have a form of income and these gigs, these guys, we could get somewhere. They were skeptic of me. I was girl auditioning for drums, not vocals. It wasn't so much that they wouldn't accept me, they just scoffed a bit more than they should have. I got over it. If they didn't like what came out of my drums, then they could shove it up there asses.

But they did like it. I was now part of Black Picture Frame, a quite emo name if you ask me, but in all actuality, we were glam/goth rock. We sang about vampires, but in all honesty, none of us knew anything that was real about them. Which could have foreshadowed next problem, but I'm getting ahead of myself. All things come in good time.

I will take you back to my life-altering night. It's what you're really waiting to read about. Dying to know all those little details. Fools.

By now I was twenty years old, I was in my concert outfit, my highly regarded costume. It was indeed my most prized outfit. I adored it with every inch of my skin, it hugged me perfectly, and I felt as immortal as the men and women we sang about.

It was my dream outfit. Granted, I have come to own many like it, many fashioned in the same gothic style, but I still loved it half to death.

I paced back forth backstage, waiting for us to be announced. I was always nervous before shows. No matter how many times I had gone out, how many times I am and was faced with a new crowd, I shook and grew self-conscience. If anyone wanted to find me vulnerable, it was at these moments in time that it was clear.

And he saw it, oh so easily. He smiled his devilish smile, knowing me, reading me like a book. Of course, I did not know this.

Finally, Jamie, Kirk, Frankie and I were called out, and we presumed our appropriate stations on the stage. The lights were blinding, but I could see faces below, and they scared me, for I felt as though they could attack me, and I would not know their identity. I held myself in poise, pretending my confident strides, my straight posture, though my corset did help with that.

Strike the first blow, then the second, in perfect tune with the automatic rhythm of life. The next line, the next and the one after it. Vocals preceded, guitars and bass. Everything flowed, everything was soon lost in this world of music. I was in ecstasy as I always was once I fell into the waters of the notes and words. This, this is what I had always lived for, for the perfect bliss of belonging and being important, even playing the hand of god.

As in all highs, it had to end. We got up, made our way off the stage and fell back into the darkness of the curtains, to the backstage. I was the quiet one always, I don't know what my band mates took of me, nor did I care. Besides on stage, I never cared what people thought of me. No one was allowed to bring judgement on me and make me follow them.

Everyone besides me was talking lively, where as I was in the background, following after them. I was the last to see the man standing there, clapping slowly as we walked in. Jamie, Kirk and Frankie were thanking him, asking his name. He responded with "Lestat." I still remember his ushering that one word, those two syllables, that one name, how it had filled me with so much passion and feeling of romance, and of horror.

Conversation flew left and right of me in that backstage room, no one paid any attention to me except him, but he only made eye contact. He had beautiful eyes, and you could see through his shirt that he was very well built. His blonde curly hair fell messily around his face and he was extremely pale. Somehow this all came together on him and made him one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. And I wanted him, wanted him to want me.

"Who is your friend," he asked with a smirk on his lips to my mates.

They all looked to me, confused by my presence. I always fell invisible to them, tonight was no exception.

I stepped into the group and extended my hand. "Eliza." He took my hand and brought it to his cold lips and gently laid a kiss on my knuckles. I heard an envious sigh from Jamie and smirked. "Pleasure to meet you Eliza." He said lowering my hand. I nodded and smirked, then stepped back 


	2. Always Something Wrong

I had mentioned before that his name had struck horror as well as passion and romance. It is because I knew of him. He was notorious in clubs, and everyone's descriptions of him were fabulous, yet they failed to catch the sweet, threatening beauty of him. I longed for him to touch me again, and yet at the same time, I wanted to flee to safety, away from his murderous hands.

My band mates, they were oblivious to his bloodlust, but I, I saw right through him. I excused myself, tore myself away from him and their stupidity and their lack of ability to comprehend he was not human, but more indeed a monster. I walked down the hallway and out the backstage door.

It was a cold night, freezing. I could see my breath linger before me as I breathed out. I sucked back in the icy air and tried to calm myself down. In all honesty, those minutes I had described were much more like three, but none the less, I had realized that one of our lives were at least in danger, and, sorry to say, I refused it to be me.

Survival. Passion. Fear. Infatuation. How all of those emotions could float in at one time. I sighed and pushed myself off the back wall of which I was leaning on, and started to walk away. Best them than me, I repeated as I walked off.

I got home and locked my door and my windows. How was it that they couldn't have seen the way he face reflected no life, how his eyes were clouded and have not heard the rumors? I was feeling guilty for leaving them, for not trying to express what perils they were in, how they were flirting with death itself. I hardly ever felt guilt, I believed people brought on their own destruction, but that night, how could they have known.

And of course, it could just have been another Lestat, but oh, it was him. I just knew. He had that dangerous aura around him. I tried to rationalize my guilt, push it away and let myself fall into a sleep, but as soon as I shut my eyes, my cell phone had rang.

"Hello?"

"Liza, I need your help! I don't know where I am, Lestat, he took us to a club and then... oh! I can't even describe just come and help me, please!" Jamie was crying, something I had never heard her do, she also had panic in her voice. I asked for her location and then sped off in my car one minute later.

Jamie didn't waist time getting into the car. We were now downtown in the good part of the city, but she had been crouched in the bus stop, hiding from everyone.

"What happened," I asked her as we made our way away from the downtown streets, back up to my side of the town.

Her eyes gleamed with fear and sadness, I knew something had gone wrong. And I knew who had to be behind it.

"Lestat," she sniffled, "took us downtown. We went into a club, everything was fine except... except he then attacked Frankie, pulling a full vampire on him. I tried to pry him off, but it was no use! I wasn't st---" she broke off crying. I sighed and rubbed her back.

For me, someone who never cared for another human, she made me feel a tinge of remorse, something in me broke when she cried, and I wanted anything to make her feel better. But I knew I couldn't.

There were underlying feelings between her and Frankie that no one admitted. We just let them make believe they didn't like each other and let them pine. I knew she was feeling this harder than i would even if I had, had a human attachment to these people. I guess in ways, I was a vampire from the start. No remorse for killing, leaving people to die, having no use for pity or weakness.

I was a vampire before blood had ever traces my lips, before I had even the marks on me.

I had let Jamie stay at my house that entire night, the week after and the months after that. We hardly saw eachother, and to cope with the loss of both Kirk and Frank (as we had found out later), she was going around fucking any man she could find.

Whereas I, I felt only but a pang of guilt and sorrow for their deaths, and pushed it away, feeling as though these emotions were useless. They only led to mal-production and nothing would have gotten done. I went in search of a new band, of a new life. I was going to give Jamie my apartment and move out.

You might be asking yourself right now, "how does any of these short tales inside one of the other precede to her death? Her tragedy? The day her life turned about?" And in all honesty, this is the way these things happen. I wasn't going to take you RIGHT to that very moment in time, that will come, I promise.

I moved into my new apartment a few weeks later, before my twenty-first birthday, and found myself a job at the local coffee shop. It got busy on weekends, new faces and old faces always coming and going. I never got to know any of them, even if I had phone numbers passed my way, or my co-workers chatted constantly. I've told you before, people held very little interest for me.

It was just one night that everything seemed to wield the forces against me, and I came face to face with the beautiful monster who had destroyed my friend and made her into a zombie. I hated him for that. Even though I rejected basic love, trust and other emotions, I still hated him for doing that to her. So maybe on some level, I loved her.

He had come in with another man, his comrade, I suppose. His partner in crime. A fake pretty girl walked in with her too-orange tan skin, short skirt that began and ended at her thighs and her pink belly top and clung to Lestat. Her friend who looked exactly like her except with brunette hair, not bottle blonde, clung to the other man, who politely shirked her off.

They came up to the counter and Lestat and I made eye contact once again. He smirked and I grimaced, asked stiffly what he would like and said the girls would order. I took their chai tea orders and sent it back for Jasmine, my co-worker to make for me. I rang them up, and what would have been monotonous ritual, turned into an awkward situation filled with hate and awe.

"Eliza, this is Louis. Louis, Eliza." Lestat said with his evil smirk. I nodded curtly at Louis and handed their Plastics their chais.

"Where are you manners Eliza?" Lestat asked with a hint of amusement surrounding his cold eyes.

"I suppose they were lost when Frankie and Kirk randomly disappeared for a week and then showed up with pretty bite marks in their necks. Don't suppose you have anything to do with them." I said glaring at him. And to spite him, I called for the next person, not even allowing him the dignification of answering. 


End file.
